


Hourglass

by Lee_Mix



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5323376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lee_Mix/pseuds/Lee_Mix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not long after the events of Hawkmoth’s defeat, Marinette dropped off the grid without a word to anyone. Five years later, the countdown begins to see if they can find her in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Echo, Echo

The filtered sunlight streamed into her box apartment as Alya pulled up the blinds.

“Yes, I  _know_ I said I would get the article finished by next week, Mr. Tres–no, that I  _do_  understand.” Alya paced around her apartment, holding up the phone by her shoulder as she shuffled through a few papers. “But I just need to get one more lead, and then it shouldn’t be a problem to get to the office on time. No, that’s alright, I have the files with me here. I’m checking it over just to be sure.”

She leaned against the wall next to the window, and peered out at the street below. As the citizens of Paris went about their lives as the world continued to spin, it was like she, in that tiny box apartment, were locked in an impasse of time and consequence. “I know that, sir. Respect that I can get it done on time, please.” 

She barely contained a sigh. “Yes, I understand. Goodbye, sir.”

The muted voice ended with a click, and Alya settled her phone on the desk, before taking a look around her apartment.

Moving out at age nineteen, taking up a small job at a local newspaper… her mother had considered her crazy for taking up her teenage passion for reporting, yet there she was, five years later, potentially writing for the _front page._

Of course, it  _was_ only a local paper. Her horizons were stretching further, but she wouldn’t try a ship’s voyage with nothing but a paddleboat.

“Hm?” She glanced toward her phone as she heard the sound go off, and grinned when she saw the name of who was calling her. Pressing the _video_ option, she gave a small wave. “Hey there, Spielburg!”

_“Very funny, Alya. Should I start calling **you** Murdoch?” _

She paused. “Point taken. But the nickname suits you.” Alya pulled out a chair, and settled her phone on the stand. “What’s up? Is there something you need help with, or do you just miss my voice that much?”

He frowned at her, and the teasing instantly stopped.  _“Don’t you remember, Alya? The school reunion is on tonight at the old building. _We spoke about this last weekend when we met up for lunch with Adrien._ I was supposed to pick you up in a few hours, remember?”_

“R-Right. S-Sorry, uh, I’ve had a lot of work on. It slipped my mind.” 

_“Slipped your mind?”_

“Yes?”

Nino didn’t look convinced.  _“You never let anything just ‘slip’ your mind, Ali. You even said that yourself, remember? You practically drilled it into my head. Unless…”_

“Don’t you dare.”

_“You were looking through your old files for Mari again.”_

Alya didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the painful contortion of truth in her face. She heard him sigh through the crackling speakers of her phone.

_“Alya… not again. It almost destroyed you last time where you became so obsessed with trying to–”_

“I’m not  _obsessed,_ Nino.” Alya clenched her fist as the progress leaked from her lips. “I have a good lead this time, not like the others. I have a solid piece of evidence that she’s maybe in trouble, and a contact I trust in Washington said that they–”

_“Ali, are you really going to put yourself through this again?”_

She knew that tone. The “I know you’re trying but what’s the point breaking your heart again” tone that, though angered her, was  _always_ right in the end. The furrowed brows and look of pity that brushed across his face weren’t helping matters either.

“I haven’t touched anything relating to it for over a year. Give me some leeway.” She snarled. “You wouldn’t have given up on Adrien so quickly, would you?”

He didn’t seem phased at her attitude at this point. Although, if she had said that two years ago, he would have marched over to her apartment and snapped at her ears until they bled.

_“Adrien’s not the one who left Paris without a trace. And quickly? Alya, it’s been almost five years.”_

Alya rubbed the back of her neck. “I can  _find_ her this time, Nino. I’ve almost… I’m nearly there. I’m  _sure_ of it.”

 _“How long are you going to keep torturing yourself like this, Alya? We don’t know why Mari left us, but she obviously doesn’t want to be found, and _neither do her parents._  Otherwise you _know _she would have left you, of all people, some way to contact her.”_

Her silence hung over the tension in the room like a knife, dangled above her eyes. The words were spun on the glinting edge, and she closed her eyes to rid herself of the illusion of the reality.

_“Let it go, Ali. Let yourself have some peace.”_

She still refused to answer, and she heard a grainy sigh through the speakers of her phone.

_“I’ll pick you up from your apartment tonight around seven, alright? Try and get yourself cleaned up before, sort through that mess of an apartment. …_ _Talk to you later, Ali.”_

The screen went black, and the sun had withdrawn from her room, leaving only a tiny golden trail to the wall she blocked with her eyes. Slowly, her legs willed herself to go over, blocking out the trail with her curious shadow.

Photographs of a time when rosey-views seemed possible had become distorted by age and wear. They littered the wall with their false sense of security, back when her  _friend_ had promised to never leave, that they’d always have each other’s backs.

Alya reached out to touch the last photograph the two of them had taken together. It was a blurry shot, no scenery to speak of. It was before buildings had been destroyed, the city had been shaken, and the sky hadn’t been scarred with the reminder that  _something_ had taken it over. 

 _Hawkmoth,_ they had called him. Ladybug and Chat Noir. 

Marinette had left Paris not three months later.

When her presence ceased to be in all but photographs, everyone had been heartbroken. The entire class–even  _Chloe–_ had mourned her absence. Time hadn’t had the decency to be kind to her friends. Not for her, not for Nino, for  _Adrien._

They were still being rocked in the storm of questions that time refused to provide any comfort for.

“Mari…”

She clapped a hand over her mouth, and sunk to her knees.

“Where did you  _go?”_

* * *

The drive through the streets of Paris was as Nino feared; quiet, silent, with the knife slowly cutting through the tension hanging on strings above their eyes. His eyes were on the road, but he was focused on the huddled-up figure in the backseat of his car, staring out the window and refusing to look at him.

Alya hadn’t said a word to him all night, and he knew  _why_.

For all her passionate drive in unearthing the truth for the general public, Alya had never reacted well when it came to  _home_ truths. He knew her heart was in the right place, and he, like everyone, ached for answers in regard to Marinette’s whereabouts. But the first year she had been missing had almost  _destroyed_ Alya. He wouldn’t let her go through that again.

“You want me to get out and walk?”

Alya’s eyes flitted over to him, and she gave a questioning grunt.

Nino pulled over next to the curb, and switched on the light. His arm hung around the chair as he swerved around in his seat to look at her. “Do you just want to drive yourself there? You’re obviously angry with me.”

Alya shrugged. “I’m not angry at  _you._ ”

His gaze softened. “I know. You’re angry at everything else. But you’re taking it out on me, and quite frankly, Ali, I feel like I’m going to drown in the tension.”

Honeyed eyes became glassy as she peered up at him from behind her thick-framed spectacles. She bit her lip, before sighing. “I’m sorry.” Her shoulders heaved. “I… you’re right.”

Nino reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. “I miss her too, Ali. Don’t think I don’t. But thinking of nothing else isn’t going to do you any good.” 

His hand traced over her arm, over the permanent, thin marks that lined up like matchsticks across her wrist.

Alya’s lips managed a smile. “I feel like you’ve got a camera set up, and this is some scene from a film you’re producing. You know, the damaged wanton lover being healed by the man she tried to push away?” Her lips hooked into a smirk. “You trying to seduce me, Spielberg?”

Nino laughed, and took his hand off her arm. “I think I’m a chromosome shy of  _your_  preferences, Ali.”

“Ssh.” She put a finger to his mouth. “We have to keep that quiet, remember?”

_All too well._

Nino waved off her hand, and glanced out at the window. Small droplets of rain had settled against the glass, and nothing but the dull streetlights showed the path ahead.

It took a few moments for the  _familiarity_ of the location to hit him, and he began to laugh. 

Bitterly quiet, at first then it erupted into howls of unrestrained pain.

“Nino…? What’s the matter with you?”

“ _Look,_ Ali. Look where we are. Of all the places to have this conversation, and we end up  _here._ ”

It only took her a few moments before the realisation hit her, too.

The bakery was a shell of it’s former, welcoming self. No longer were people queuing outside to taste a sample of the Dupain-Cheng’s mastery at baking. Instead, it was coping with seas of dust, the windows boarded up, and the warm glow of its ovens long left the streets of Paris. 

“All this talk of wanting to you move on, and I pull up  _here_ without thinking about it. Doesn’t exactly help my case, does it?”

“She’s your friend too, Nino.” Alya unclipped her seatbelt, and clambered into the front seat. She took his hand, and held it close, and for some reason, his glasses were playing up.

Alya wasn’t meant to look that  _blurry._

“It’s like nobody was even  _there,_ isn’t it?”

“…Yeah.”

Nino wiped under his eyes with the back of his shirt sleeve, and forced his eyes to dry to a reasonable amount. Alya knew better than to try and coax out emotional conversation with him at this stage (he was better at talking about things in hindsight, and blessed as he was, Alya  _never_ pushed him until he broke), and gripped the wheel until his knuckles paled.

“…It’s not going to be the same without her.”

“Yeah.”

And with that, the drive continued.

* * *

When the car pulled up outside the old school building, a part of the dread had already washed off. 

Even without the presence of her former best friend, Alya knew it would be good to look back on it all. It wouldn’t negate everything, but…

“Alya? You ready?”

She couldn’t resist a grin as he leaned against the doorframe. “Really?” Alya pointed, putting the other hand on her hip. “You’re still wearing your headphones that you had back in school? Those things must be worth a fortune now. A relic of the digital age!”

He feigned a gasp. “These are  _priceless._ Don’t unjustly hate.”

“I’m in journalism. I have to.”

“Touche, if I want to get into Hollywood.” Nino rolled his eyes, and offered an arm. “My friend, may I escort you to our former classmates’ gathering tonight?”

Alya pondered over it, before leaning forward and, with a smirk, plucked the glasses right from his nose.

“What–hey! Ali, come back here!” He spluttered, waving his arms around. “Come on, you  _know_ what hell it is for me to not have my glasses on!”

Alya eventually stopped, turned on her heel, and put her hand out to stop him in his tracks. “Okay, Spielberg, I’ve had my fun. Here’s your glasses back.”

“ _Thank-you._ Now, can we please go–”

A sudden vibration shot from her pocket. “Oh, hold on.” She rummaged around, before pulling out her phone. “I think that’s the contact I ment…huh. That’s odd.”

Nino peered over the phone, squinting. “Something wrong?”

“Yeah. Look.”

Her entire screen had gone blue, save for some numbers in a white font.

**_ERROR RECEIVED: 01001000010001010100110001010000_ **

“My phone has been playing up  _all_ week with stuff like this. It’s caused a bunch of my stories to be delayed in getting to my publisher–I’m behind on over a week’s worth of work.” Alya massaged her temples. “Blue screen of death, much? And it’s always the same sequence of numbers. I think.”

“You should take it in for repairs. I know a little about how a phone works, if you want it done for free?”

Alya grinned, the cold air prickling her skin around her. “Thanks, Spielberg. That’s mean a lot. What on Earth would I do without you?”

She stuffed the phone back into her pocket, ignoring the message on screen, and wrapped her arm around his.

“Now, can we  _please_ get inside the building already? It’s freezing out here!”


	2. Knock, Knock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the people who have wondered; Alya is the main character of this story for the first half. She’s just not the ONLY one. Adrien will also be appearing in this chapter, finally! Just a short chapter, this time. I hope you all enjoy. ^__^

Give or take a few details, and it was like Alya had walked into a phantom manifestation of her classroom days. 

Even now, the former students had flocked to their old desks, dim lighting and gentle soprano filling the hallways with the ever-lasting reminder that these halls were no longer their own to claim, yet nothing much had changed save the stories and the outfits.

Alya sighed, and stared down at the cherry liquor swirling around in the glass, trying to make sense of the shapes within the ripples. If she peered into it close enough, she was  _sure_ she’d see something of value.

“Still moping, Shutterbug?”

Alya rolled her eyes, though was a little surprised at the addition to her table. 

Daintily perched at the edge of the table, transformed by the years of absence in her life, was the formerly-hated Chloe Bourgeoise. With her long-hair cropped short and decked to the brim in a white-fitted blazer, there were barely any echoes of the past haughtiness in her apparel.

Her somewhat subdued smirk, however, assured Alya the complete pleasure that not  _all_ was lost. 

“Again with the nicknames?” Alya groaned. “Haven’t you grown out of that, Chloe?” 

“Touchy.” 

“What do you want, Chloe?” Alya put her glass down on the desk, and held her head in her hand as she glared up at the girl. “Are you here just to dig up a chance to pester me because you didn’t get one in school? Go ahead, I’m too tired to stop you.”

“Not having a good time with…” Chloe gestured to the rest of the socialising group. “Your friends? Why don’t you go and…”

“And what?” Alya chuckled. “Listen to how they’re getting married and having kids soon, or how far they’ve gotten in their careers when  _I’m_ still stuck in a box apartment writing for a local newspaper?”

Alya bit her tongue as soon as the worries flew out.

Truthfully, she had been looking to  _avoid_ all of that. It wasn’t that she wasn’t  _proud_ of how far she’d gotten, but there were dampers on the mood when the people she loved had all gotten further than her, and had no reason  _not_ to brag about it.

And she had let those insecurities slip to  _Chloe,_ of all people.

Chloe’s posture had grown awkward, and she rubbed her arm. “Well… you’ve had a lot to deal with. Over the past five years, I mean.” She shrugged. “I’m not saying  _I’m_ impressed, but with all that dragging you down, it’s a wonder you’ve managed to get as fair as you have now.”

Alya stared up at her, shock sweeping across her face. Chloe must have taken notice, as her face went red with embarrassment, and she folded her arms in a huff.

“I just  _said_ I wasn’t impressed with you. You don’t have to look at me like I just confessed my love to you or something!”

_THAT’S the comparison you make?_

“No, I… just wasn’t expecting that. With everything that’s gone on…” Alya ran a hand through her hair, and chuckled. “Maybe the world has gone mad. Still, thanks, Chloe. I… I think I needed that.”

She was surprised at the expression on her face. 

It was… soft.

Chloe turned on her heel, and Alya thought she might go off without a word.

But then…

“I know you haven’t given up yet. My card is on the table if you need… anything to try and find Marinette, Alya. Good luck.”

Alya blinked, and saw the tiny white card on the table, a number writing in… chicken-scratch. She picked it up, began to laugh, and covered her eyes with her hand as her eyes began to sting.

_The world really has gone mad. The only one who doesn’t want me to give up is the one who used to hate her the most._

* * *

“…and the  _entire_ coffee pot almost fell on the new sound-system!”

Adrien began to howl with laughter as Nino finished his anecdote, slapping his hand against his knee. The small crowd (consisting of Milan, Ivan, Juleka, and Rose) that had clustered around the storyteller joined in with his laughter, and it almost echoed the social circle in school he barely had until the last few months before graduation.

It felt good to laugh again. 

Adrien wiped under his eye, and wheezed. “I thought  _nothing_ could beat the story with the clippers and your face cream. How do you even get anything  _done_ at work with stories like those?”

“Oh, that’s not the worst of it!” Rose held up a finger, the other arm hooked around Juleka’s. “He’s  _terrible_ with organising! Why, just last week he tried to make a  _tape deck_ out of a  _radio_ and phone chargers!”

Nino ducked his head sheepishly. “I’m creative.”

“You’re a menace!” Rose grinned and poked his nose. “You’re lucky I’m there, or I’m certain you would have been escorted from the set after the first week!”

“And for that, I thank you, my dear Rose.”

“You say that, but I’m the one who has to deal with her complaining about you.” Juleka piqued, scratching under her nose with her ring-bound finger. 

“Well, it’s a life promise.” Rose hooked her own ringed finger around Juleka’s. “You’re going to have to get used to it!”

The laughter arose in the circle again, and Adrien wrapped an arm around Nino’s shoulders. Seeing the formerly-shy Rose transformed into a little spitfire had made all the difference in the energy in the air. Maybe it was the buzz of the cherry wine, or the simple _joy_ of escaping his father’s ever-smothering expectations, but the freedoms of being able to experience a social life without the mask of Chat Noir as a young adult was… liberating, to say the least.

“Hey,” Rose pointed over to one of the desks. “Is Alya alright? She’s barely said a word to anyone all night.”

“I did see her talking with Chloe earlier. But aside from that…?”

Nino flitted a brief concerned glance toward Adrien, which left him puzzled. “She’s itching to get back to work.” Nino said. “There’s a big chance for her to get on the front page this month.”

Rose waved her hand. “The girl’s always been too much of a workaholic. It’s admirable, and believe me when I say I  _wish_ I could be like her, but this is a night off, and she looks  _miserable!_ Did she even want to be here?”

“…Probably not.” Juleka’s expression went downcast. “This  _is_ a school reunion, Rose. It doesn’t take much. Just look; who isn’t here with her?”

Rose covered her mouth. “Oh… I-I didn’t know. Does that mean that Marinette still hasn’t gotten in contact with her…?”

“Not a word since she left school.”

Adrien’s hand went pale as he gripped the wine glass, and he fought of the temptation to turn into Chat Noir just to feel the satisfaction of it shattering underneath his fingertips.

“Dude,” Nino whispered. “You alright? I don’t think Rose meant anything by it–”

“I’m  _fine,_ Nino _._ I just need a walk.” He hissed, and turned on his heel, ignoring the concerned calls after him. 

He barely realized how hard his nails were digging into his palm until it started to bleed.

* * *

“Tch. Still not letting me send any messages?”

Alya leaned against the wall outside the school grounds, one leg kicked up to hold herself in place as she stared at her phone. She had abandoned her blazer from her tuxedo and had hung it up on her arm, and frowned at the blue screen littered with the same pattern of white numbers.

The environment inside had become too loud, clawing at her head. She needed respite.

…Which, unfortunately, had lead her back into the phantom ghosts of the past. She didn’t sit on the same bench she and Marinette had always done, but she lingered too close to be a coincidence.

Alya’s lips curled into a pout as she began to scroll through the endless sequences of binary code.

 _You could just get a new phone,_ she reasoned with herself.  _But everyone’s probably already figured out the reason WHY you haven’t bothered and simply just changed your phone in over five years._

“Hm?” She peered in closer. “Are the numbers different in this part…?”

She frowned. “No, wait, they’re… updating? That’s… can an error screen even update on it’s own? And this is live updates, too…”

> **_01000011 01000001 01001110 00100000 01011001 01001111 01010101 00100000 01001000 01000101 01000001 01010010 00100000 01001101 01000101 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010111 00100000 01000001 01001100 01011001 01000001_ **

She shook her head. “Ugh. I can’t decode any of this by myself. I’ll just get Spielberg or someone to look at it later for me.” Alya then shoved the phone back into her trouser pocket, and untied her hair from it’s tight bun, and looked out at the grounds of her old school.

It almost seemed timeless. The gentle hum of dying streetlights being replaced by the winking twilight stars did little to ease her mind away from the memories, but she had no trouble being trapped in a cage of nostalgia. 

She rubbed her eyes when she saw something…  _fluttering_ in the dead winds of the city.

“Is that a butterfly?”

Her curiosity piqued, especially for such a creature to be lingering around in the Winter months, Alya took a step forward to take a closer look. Indeed, in size and shape, it  _looked_ like it should be an ordinary butterfly. 

…But butterflies weren’t supposed to be  _pixelated_ or  _translucent._

 _“What the hell?”_ She muttered under her breath, feeling small hairs on the back of her neck stick up. 

The small creature seemed to be fluttering… toward  _her._

_What harm can a butterfly do?_

Alya crouched down, before carefully put her blazer on the grass. She then pulled out her phone to get a better look at the butterfly from the dull light. 

Whatever struggles the butterfly had  _vanished_ the instant it locked with her phone, and it almost  _teleported_ toward the receiver. Perched on the end, she felt her stomach pool with fear as she watched what happened next.

The butterfly  _stretched_ around her phone, and she ended up dropping it from the sheer oddity of the situation. 

“What the–”

**_“…aLyA…”  
_ **

She whipped her head around. “H-Hello?”

Alya stood up, glancing around in alarm.

Nobody. Sheer emptiness.

_Did I just… imagine it?_

She gave a small knock to her head. “Too much wine again, girl. Rose  _was_ right; you need to learn to unwind better.” She chuckled, and reached down to pick her phone up. After a quick check-over, she deduced nothing had changed, and stuffed it back into her pocket. 

She then stuck her arms back through her blazer, and ran back inside to join the warm glow of the reunion. 

_Marinette or no, I’m allowed to enjoy myself. At least for tonight._

**Author's Note:**

> I will say it now: Alya and Nino will be a lot of the third-person narrative-focus for this story in the beginning, so I’m sorry if we don’t see a lot of Adrien or Marinette at first. That being said, they do make up part of the four-way structure of the show, and I’m hoping you’ll all enjoy it.


End file.
